


The Flowering Curse

by Cubriffic



Series: Goretober 2019 [1]
Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Dr Mario is here too, F/M, Flowers, Goretober, Goretober 2019, Graphic, Hanahaki Disease, Just Friends, My first gore fic hell yea, Popos a stupid idiot, Theyre not siblings btw, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-22 15:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20876714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cubriffic/pseuds/Cubriffic
Summary: Popo had awoken one morning, only to find a petal on his pillow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer for people who don't read tags- The icies aren't siblings in this; I see them as childhood friends.
> 
> I'm so mad I didn't add this into the 30 day challenge, so I'm using it for Goretober instead! Hopefully I'll write some more Goretober fics bc I can't participate in the art challenge.  
I'm very happy with how this turned out, it's a lot darker than my previous hanahaki fics. This can be read as a one-shot, the additional chapter won't be fully necessary. I went wild on this with my interpretation, so some things may be different (e.g adding a way to slow down the disease's effects)
> 
> Also here's your TW for blood bc there's a lot of it towards the end.

It happened out of the blue one morning.

That wasn’t entirely true; ‘out of the blue’ wasn’t the correct way to describe it. He always knew that it would catch up to him one day. It ran in the family after all- his father had had it, as did his father before that, and so on and so forth. He didn’t expect to find out he had finally gotten it like this though.

Popo had awoken from his deep slumber, only to find a petal on his pillow.

He had overslept; Nana was already out, probably making excuses to everyone as to why Popo was still asleep. Sitting up in bed, he picked up the petal, which had already begun to wilt. It was a pale blue, small & slightly sticky. It had been on his pillow for some time; Popo probably coughed it up sometime during the night.

He quickly went into denial upon seeing it. He didn’t want to believe that he had the disease already. His ancestors never managed to get it this early; hell, by the time most of them got it they were already married, essentially treating them instantly. This had to be a one-off thing. Maybe it would just be mild, and he’d get over it within a day or two. After all, he’d heard of that kind of thing happening before.

The door to his room creaked open. Popo quickly shoved the petal under his pillow before the intruder could see.

“_Finally_ you’re up!” Nana, fully dressed, was standing in the doorway. “You’re gonna miss breakfast!”

“Sorry,” Popo yawned. “You should’ve woken me up then, if you care so much.”

“Well you looked peaceful sleeping,” Nana crossed her arms defensively, pouting. “I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“Aw, how sweet of you.” Popo teased his friend.

“Whatever,” Nana rolled her eyes, but smiled. “You better hurry up before Ike gets there.”

“Right.” Popo rushed out of bed, not wanting his breakfast stolen from the greedy mercenary. 

He ignored the tickle at the back of his throat as he made his way down to the dining hall with Nana.

\---

It got worse as the week went on.

Popo wasn’t prepared just how bad it got in such a short amount of time. By the middle of the week, he was struggling to keep up in battles, wheezing and trying not to throw up flowers in front of everyone. He was getting tired much more quickly than usual as well; he started to let Nana lead in battles, just so he could have a break from stressing over what they should do.

The flowers were getting worse too. They quickly turned from petals into buds, and were far more frequent. Every morning was a rush to hide a new spread of petals and buds from Nana, which would litter his bed in disgusting shades of blue and red. It was a struggle to hide them from everyone else too, especially the Fire Emblem fighters, who were the first (aside from Nana) to catch onto Popo’s strange behaviour.

He hated it. He hated the feeling of tightness in his chest, as the flowers grew in his lungs, spreading their roots & shortening his breath more and more. He hated having to run to the bathrooms as soon as a match was over, heaving and throwing up a bloody mess of flowers. He hated that he knew what it all meant, that he would probably be dead within the week at this rate.

And to top it off, he hated being around Nana.

He knew she was the direct cause. Sure, he was a bit slow, but he wasn’t an idiot- the more time he spent around her, the worse his symptoms got. It was painful to be around her. Whenever she smiled, or laughed at something he said, Popo could feel his chest tighten, and the taste of blood and flowers at the back of his throat. It was worse when she got touchy; the brush of her hand or a simple hug was enough to cause a terrible hacking fit.

Popo had convinced her that it was nothing more than being a bit sick. After a horrible match on Wednesday, where Popo had collapsed trying to keep up with her, she had insisted that he stayed in their room and rested. Popo didn’t have the energy nor the will to object, and so had allowed her to take care of him. Sure, it made his symptoms a lot worse, but Popo didn’t care. At least it made Nana feel like she was helping him somewhat.

He was reaching his limit though. He needed to tell someone what was going on, particularly someone who _knew_ how to fix it.

So when Nana was out for lunch, he raced towards the infirmary, and banged on the door, hoping someone was in there.

Luckily, someone was.

“Oh, Popo,” Dr. Mario, holding a half-eaten bowl of salad, raised his eyebrows. “What brings you here?”

“I’m sick.” Popo realised just how raspy his voice sounded.

“As I’ve heard,” The doctor nodded. “Come in, then.”

Popo rarely went to the infirmary; most of the time, Nana was all that he needed. It was almost blinding to him- the walls, floor, ceiling, and most of the furniture was in different shades of white and grey. Popo followed behind the doctor, who guided him towards one of the beds. He sat down as Dr. Mario grabbed a clipboard, paper & pencil, before sitting next to him.

“So, what seems to be the problem now?”

Popo sighed. “Well, it’s-”

He began to cough loudly, unable to keep it down. Red-faced, he pulled away to see exactly what he dreaded. His hands were now coated in an array of petals & buds, with small flecks of blood. The doctor quickly picked up a bin for Popo to throw them into.

Dr. Mario quickly snatched a petal and bud before Popo could toss them away. He hummed to himself. “Ah, so that’s what it is. Hanahaki disease.”

Popo looked at him. “You know what it is?”

“Of course I do. It’s a phenomenon in my world as well,” He peeled open the buds, mumbling something about forget-me-nots, before scribbling onto his paper. “How long has this been happening?”

“Mhm,” Dr. Mario nodded, not looking up. “Does it run in your family?”

“Well, yeah,” Popo nodded, thinking to himself. “But nobody’s ever taught me how to, uh, fix it.”

“Well it’s not quite as simple as ‘fixing’ it,” Dr. Mario looked up. “It’s incurable, but it can be treated.”

“How?” Popo’s eyes widened.

“There are two ways- the one you love must also love you back, or you can surgically remove the flowers. The surgery is a last resort however, as you lose any feelings of love, and I wouldn’t recommend it unless-”

“Love me back?” Popo could feel his hands begin to shake. “You mean romantic love, or…?”

“Romantic,” Dr. Mario scribbled something else onto his paper. “Now, the first thing we should do is figure out who it is that you love. A lot of victims don’t necessarily know who-”

“It’s Nana.”

At the sound of her name, the flowers came back up. This time however, the doctor reacted quickly, and Popo threw up into the trash can. A shiver went down his spine as he pulled away, wiping away the remaining blood on his lip.

Dr. Mario nodded. “I must say, I’m not surprised. Does she know of this?”

Popo shook his head. “She just thinks I’m sick. Like a bad cold.”

“So she knows nothing of your sickness?”

“Hopefully not.”

Dr. Mario’s eyebrows furrowed. “Popo, this is a very serious illness. You should at least tell her what’s happening.”

“But then she’ll be on my case about it. And it’ll just get worse.” Popo’s eyes darted to the ground, staring at the white tiles.

“Popo-”

“I’m not speaking to her.”

There was no point trying to argue; Popo’s stubbornness was hard to argue against, even in dire situations like this. The doctor sighed, getting up and walking towards a large cabinet. Popo watched as he grabbed out something from the back, before walking over and handing a small package to him.

“There’s a weeks worth of pills in here. Take them three times a day. They’ll slow down the flower’s growth rate. And don’t try going out and doing any battles, they’ll make it harder for you to breathe.”

“Don’t worry, she won’t let me.” Popo shakily grinned, struggling to push down another load of flowers.

He quickly left after that, sneaking back into his room right before Nana walked in with his lunch. To his relief, she didn’t seem to suspect a thing.

\---

He really did think he was getting better. Those pills, whatever they were, slowed his flowers down to a mere bud or petal an hour- much better than it was before. For a full week, he felt almost as healthy as he had been before the illness had hit. He still followed Dr. Mario’s orders, but he was actually beginning to hope that he’d hang on for a bit longer.

He didn’t.

As good as they were, the pills weren’t unlimited; he ran out of them once a week came by, as Dr. Mario had expected Popo to be treated by then. The instant he stopped taking them, everything caved in. His sickness got worse very quickly- it was jarring, going from feeling mostly fine to barely being able to sit up in bed.

It got real ugly too. Full flowers began coming up, drenched in spit and rusty red blood. Some came out with roots- those were the most painful ones, where Popo would spend minutes trying to cough them up. Sometimes he’d have to dig them out from the back of his throat, gagging from the feeling of roots tugging on his insides. He couldn’t hide them anymore either, as most of his mornings started with him cleaning the blood, mucus and flowers off his bed.

Worst of all, Nana had caught onto what was happening. Popo felt absolutely awful, seeing Nana worry and fuss over him as he laid practically dying in front of her. As much as he and Dr. Mario had tried to explain, she still didn’t know what was happening- all she had processed was that Popo was going to die. It hurt his heart (and his lungs) watching her trying not to worry in front of him.

His final days were getting closer and closer. More blood than flowers came up whenever he coughed, and he was struggling to breathe against the flower’s roots. Nana had begged for him to take the surgery, and even Dr. Mario had tried to convince him, but Popo had refused.

He’d rather die like this, still in love with his best friend, than live without feeling anything for her.

Speaking of Nana, she was out getting breakfast for the two. She had wanted to stay beside him, but he’d convinced her that she needed some air outside their room. He was beginning to regret that though, as he could feel himself getting weaker by the minute. He hoped that she’d be back soon, before he fell asleep again- something he’d been doing more and more.

He began to cough, cringing at the sound of his voice. It was raspy, hoarse, the sound of someone who was on the brink of death. His throat felt raw from coughing so much, and the back of it tickled from the flowers that had made their way up. His coughing continued, evolving into a harsh hacking noise, before he finally hacked out a set of flowers into his hand.

His vision blurred as he recovered. His hand and sheets were bloody. Nana wouldn’t be happy to see that when she came back. He closed his eyes, wheezing out a hasty breath.

_Nana._

Just thinking of her name made it harder to breathe.

No, he _couldn’t_ breathe.

He began to wheeze, clawing at his throat in an attempt to pull out the flowers, but it was to no avail. The flowers were too deeply rooted, and too crowded to pull out of his lungs. In his panic he entered another coughing fit, hacking up even more flowers and blood, causing what little breathing he had to halt. Desperate, he yanked on one of the long stems down his throat, pulling it out with whatever force he had.

He immediately regretted doing that.

Whilst some breathing returned to him, his lungs began to ache and felt heavy. His vision blurred once more, his vision tinting red as he tried to see what was happening. Through the blur, he caught sight of the flower he pulled out. It was long, and its roots were coated in thick layers of blood and another substance that he couldn’t recognise.

He began to feel faint, as his breathing grew heavier. _Was this was it was like to die?_ His eyes darted to the door, panicked. He didn’t want to die alone. He wanted Nana to be here. He wanted to hear her sweet yet teasing voice, telling him that he’d be alright as long as she was around. He wanted her to pamper and fuss over him, making sure that he felt alright even if he really didn’t.

He didn’t want to die without her.

He could hear footsteps coming down the hall, but it was too late now. He was already succumbing to death. He slumped against the bedroom wall, closing his eyes and sinking into unconsciousness.

The last thing Popo heard was Nana screaming out his name.


	2. The Bloody Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im gonna put another disclaimer here just in case but they're not siblings in this lmao
> 
> This isn't probably nearly as good as the first one, but I still like how it turned out! The concept of getting hanahaki for someone who's died is really interesting and Im surprised I haven't seen it before.
> 
> Once again TW for blood bc there's gonna be a lot of it

She got it one day.

Nana couldn’t remember the exact date, only that it hadn’t been long since the incident. She had just been sitting in <s>their</s> her room, curled up on her bed against a wall, when she felt something down the back of her throat. She coughed slightly, only for something to fall out of her mouth.

A single, pale pink rose petal.

Her stomach plummeted. Nana had become familiar with this sickness over the past few weeks. It was a deadly, dangerous disease that caused its victim to suffer horribly, until they eventually died of suffocation. It was exactly what caused the incident to happen.

‘The incident’ was what Nana called the day where her best friend died. It was horrifying to think of. She had only been gone for a short while, and came back to a bloody mess- on the walls, the bedsheets, and, most importantly, all over Popo. The sight of him almost made her flee instantly, seeing dripping bloody flowers sprouting from his deathly still body. It made her shiver just thinking about it.

Nana still couldn’t remember much that happened afterwards. She couldn’t remember if they had a funeral for him, or if they just simply buried him out of sight. Hell, she couldn’t even remember anything aside from staying locked up in her room, as the other fighters checked on her and made sure she was alright. For her, each day since then was just coming and going, with no real sense of time.

Roy had been checking in on her every day, making sure that she kept up with what was going on. He was the reason why she hadn’t fully lost track of time. She knew today was Friday, she was supposed to have a match against another fighter (Peach covered for her), a week-long break was starting in two weeks... Nana didn’t hold much of this information, as her mind constantly drifted back to Popo.

She missed him. A lot. Not a waking moment passed without him being at the back of her mind. It pained her to know that he died in agony, alone without anyone being there for him. Nana could feel herself tearing up just thinking about it, and she wiped away roughly at her tears.

She coughed again, and another petal sprouted from her mouth. Thinking about Popo had made her forget what was happening. She cringed upon seeing the second petal. How she got this disease, she had no idea, but that wasn’t important to her. What was important was _who_ caused this. 

Nana knew who it was. It was clear to her already.

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. The door creaked open, revealing Roy, holding a plate of food.

“It’s lunchtime,” He smiled sincerely; the kind of smile you’d give to someone grieving. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

“Thank you.” Nana’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Her eyes caught sight of Popo’s mirror, situated at the end of his bed, and she winced. She looked absolutely awful- her eyes were raw red, her hair was in tangles and she looked like she hadn’t left her room in weeks.

She turned to Roy, who was putting her food down in front of her. “Can you get Dr. Mario?”

Roy was surprised at Nana’s sudden question, but nodded. “Of course!” He left, shutting the door behind him.

Nana picked at her food. Peach must have cooked today, considering lunch was an actual meal, not just a sandwich, and it was perfectly cooked. Nana forced herself to eat despite having no appetite; Dr. Mario would be on her case if he found out she wasn’t eating enough. Her thoughts drifted away once more. She could hear Popo’s voice in her mind, saying that Nana’s own cooking was far better than this.

Another cough came out, alongside another few petals. Despite only eating a small portion of her lunch, Nana pushed her food away- those petals drove off any desire to eat.

The door opened. Nana looked up to see Dr. Mario, clipboard in one hand as he closed the door. He looked back at her, and nodded.

“You’re eating. That’s good to see.”

Nana didn’t respond. The doctor sat down next to her, moving her half-eaten lunch out of the way.

“So,” He sat up straight, looking at her. “What do you want to talk about?”

Nana held up the petals in front of her. “These.”

She noticed Dr. Mario’s usually calm exterior twitch into a mix of shock and fear. He quickly collected himself. “Ah, you’ve caught it as well. That’s quite peculiar. Usually it doesn’t quite sprout out this suddenly, since most victims have a family history of it.”

He took a few quick notes before talking again. “Do you know who-”

“I already know. It’s Popo.”

Crack. The sound of a clipboard snapping in two made Nana jump. She began to cough again, drowning out the sound of the doctor’s harsh swears. By the time she recovered, her hands now hosting a few more petals, the doctor has reverted back to a mostly calm state, albeit very sweaty and visibly nervous.

“Are you sure?”

Nana looked away. “He’s all that I think about.”

Dr. Mario sighed shakily. Never had Nana seen the doctor so nervous, not even when he first joined the tournament.

“There’s only one solution to this then.”

\---

As it turned out, there were _two_ solutions.

One solution, the one Dr. Mario had said was the only one, was surgery. Surgically remove the flowers, and boom, she would be cured. Nana had refused it. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life feeling nothing towards her best friend. It would keep her alive physically, but she’d still be more than broken on the inside.

The other solution was, simply put, death. She could let herself succumb to this disease and die horribly, much like Popo had done. It was the way Nana wanted to go out; she didn’t want to stay living without Popo. Everyone had tried convincing her to go against it, but there was no use arguing with Nana once she made up her mind.

So, with no way to convince her otherwise, the other fighters instead did everything to make her comfortable. They got her anything that she wanted, made sure that she didn’t feel abandoned or left out and, most importantly, tried not to remind her that she was dying. Ironically, the longer this went on, the livelier Nana began to feel; she began leaving her room for short periods of time and was more willing to engage in conversation.

However, she was still grieving, and very sick. Nana was getting weaker by the day- often when she left her room, someone would have to carry her back. It was common to hear wheezing from her room, or to see her grieving beside Popo’s bed. It was worrying, but the fighters couldn’t do much to prevent it. Her sickness couldn't be prevented either; every method that had been used to help Popo was unavailable, meaning that Nana could do nothing to fight it off.

Due to her being physically weak, combined with her general weak-willed mindset, Nana’s condition got very bad very quickly. Roy would commonly come in to see petals and buds sprayed everywhere, and the other fighters would cringe if they heard Nana’s hacking coughs when passing her room. The halls of the mansion quickly became solemn, as Nana’s condition wasn’t kept a secret from anyone.

Nana, however, suffered the most out of anyone. It made her sick, feeling her chest tighten as the roots grew deeper in her lungs. Seeing the buds come up, sickly pink and dotted bright red, made her throat tighten & her head become dizzy. The sight of flowers made her faint and shaky, and she hated it. Memories of Popo, ones where he had gifted her flowers as apology gifts, or traveled halfway across the town to give her her favourite flower, were now tainted by the illness.

At least she was going to die soon.

Nana could feel the flowers growing in her throat, twisting around each other and making their way up. It was a disgusting feeling, and she wanted to tear them out, but Dr. Mario had advised her not to. They were too deeply rooted in her lungs now; if she pulled them out, the entire lung would probably collapse with it, killing her quickly and painfully. She guessed he was still trying to convince her to take the surgery, since it wasn’t too late yet.

It wasn’t like she was going to pull them out anyways. Remembering how awful Popo’s body had looked was enough to drive her away from doing it.

So she simply rested in bed, trying to breathe through the roots, and coughing up blood & flowers. She could hear people outside, playing in the gardens. _It must be lunchtime_, Nana thought to herself. She was starting to get hungry herself; she began to wonder where Roy was.

On cue, the door opened, and Roy stood there with a plate in hand. He smiled softly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Awful.” Nana’s voice was raspy, and even quieter than it was before. She cringed, feeling the flowers brush the back of her neck.

“You sound it.” Roy handed Nana the lunch. He looked away for a moment, visibly uncomfortable.

“You know, it’s not too late to get… you know… the-”

“Surgery. I know,” Nana rested against her pillows. She never knew how hard speaking could be. “I already told you. I don’t want it.”

Roy shook his head. “Right, right, I know. But it’s-”

“Roy. Please. I made up my mind.” Nana was trying not to speak much, but Roy was beginning to get on her nerves.

“I know! It’s just-” Roy sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry Nana. I’m just on edge, I guess.”

“It’s fine.”

Roy went to leave. Before he walked out, he turned to look at Nana. “I’ll be back for dinner. Peach is making lasagna.”

Nana simply nodded, resting into her pillows. Roy left the room, shutting the door and leaving Nana alone. She quickly fell asleep, not even bothering to touch her lunch.

\---

She woke up panicking.

She couldn’t breathe. The flowers were coming out far from her throat, blocking any way for air to get in. Her chest felt heavy, as if something was weighing it down. Something else sat down the back of her throat, trying to make its way up in between the stems of the growing flowers. She couldn’t see either; she must have slept throughout the day, as the entire room was engulfed in darkness.

Nana began to cough desperately, in an attempt to get whatever was in her throat out. She felt whatever was there on her hands; sticky, bloody flowers. It felt like she was coughing up more blood than flowers at this point. But once she had started, she couldn’t stop. She continued to throw up blood, coating her bedsheets in the liquid & causing her to become light-headed.

Her vision was beginning to blur. Panicking, she fled her bed, trying to get out of there and get help. Her legs were too weak to keep her upright- she tripped over something, and she went crashing towards the ground.

She was winded, causing her chest to hurt even more. She lost whatever breath that she had, and she began to gasp harder, trying to get any kind of air into her lungs. Her legs were too weak to keep her upright, and so Nana was forced to try and drag herself across the floor, in a desperate attempt to get out.

Something sharp pressed against her throat, and she stifled a pained groan. _Thorns._ The damned stems must have been covered in them. The taste of blood at the back of her throat pushed her to continue on, and so she did, trying to ignore the pain from the flowers & the blood threatening to come back up.

_Was this how he had felt?_ Nana didn’t want to think about it. All she wanted to do was get out and get help. Dr. Mario was only down the hall- all she had to do was open that door and call out to him. But it was a struggle to even make it to the door. Her body felt like giving out, and the lack of oxygen was making her light-headed and dizzy. She couldn’t focus on what she was trying to do.

The feeling of wood caught her hands. _The door!_ She was so close. All she had to do was reach for the handle and open the door. She managed to pull herself onto her knees, and stretched out her bloody hand to the door handle.

Then she passed out.

And everything around her dissolved into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When both your patients die within like 3 weeks of each other,,,, sorry Dr. Mario
> 
> Also yes, Nana never found out who caused Popo's hanahaki. I considered it but I think she's suffering enough in this


End file.
